Vacant Voice

String some words together easier said than done, when pen and page in front of me my mind begins to run. I'll be whisked off to a foreign land wehre rivers flow rhyme in the sun, each leaf of branch a syllable, each branch a witty pun. Cursive letters fall 'round me like raindrops come undone, and though I try to pool them they fall through my fingers each one. I hear verses passing on the breeze ideas just begun, they dance around my earlobes and tease me just for fun. I pick roses with petals of poetry each pluck seems heavy a tonne, they tremble in my clutches like a fully loaded gun. Though I wander this place often beautiful language around me spun, I'm still brought down to reality where the words are always none. *AMK